


a through self examination

by Theslavequeen



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Character Death In Dream, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, Gore, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 17:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20474801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theslavequeen/pseuds/Theslavequeen
Summary: Dearest readers. The following describes a deeply personal exercise the author is useing to achieve a very specific headspace, it is shared in the hope of allowing the reader to feel a similar way. Please be advised it will contain themes of self harm, quasi-consenting power difference, and mental illness. Thank you for reading





	a through self examination

There exists in my mind, a square, barren room. The floor is a single sheet of uniform plaster, pebbled and sandy like the bottom of a pool. The floor forms a basin, its sides rising perhaps two feet then meeting the walls, continueing up until the ceiling is just beyond the reach of a particularly tall womans finger tips. The walls and ceiling are covered in ceramic tile, fitted together so tightly I cannot tell if or how they are secured together.

The center of the room contains a small, grey, metallic stool, roughly mid-shin height. It has a hole in the center of its top, and is slightly rectangular, its corners square with the room.

Although the room lacks an entrance I find myself inside it. Opening my eyes to my new surroundings I find they are lit by a sourceless light that casts no shadows. I know now that I am asleep and this is my dream.

I sit on the stool turning to face what I think is the front of the room. My knees folded out wide, calves relaxed and extended. My feet resting on the heel bone and the smallest proximal flange. My toes point away and form a right angle with eachother while my heels face inward. My back is arched into an uncomfortable curve, my neck is stretched high, my ~~hands~~ paws? lie folded in my lap.

I keep my eyes open wide by force of will, fighting for my lucidity. Stareing down at my lap while my fingers dig into my palms; blunt claws pushing their way into black velvet flesh.

I bring a cautious claw up to the tip of my face, just below my nose, and begin to pull it back along the jaw, finding the split that demarks my mouth and following it back, painfully slow. At first A centimeter, then A few more, A palm length, further, past where my jaw stops when I'm awake, beyond my sinus cavity. My finger is level with my eye now, my mouth open wider than should be possible. A seamlessly split cavern of hot red flesh. I imagine the sharp teeth studding it, A grotesque vision of yellowed fangs in my minds eye, a missshapen wreck of a tongue caressing them like a living thing.

I pull it back further, dragging it through like a knife along the belly of a freshly caught fish. My claw stoping when I reach my jaw bone, my distended cheakless maw hanging limp and open. The thick tendons of flesh that flank the top of my throat are the only thing preventing my pallet from slapping down against my chest like a door knocker. 

My entire body convulses as I wretch with the physical sensation of my palpably grotesque body. I hunch forward, heaving and spluttering, every motion of my mouth leaveing me more and more disgusted with my own form, every cough failing to bring anything up. Even the visceral release of acid rushing up my throat denied to me in this fleshly hell.

In desperation I grip my jaw with both hands and PULL with all my strength and despair. There is a sick warm blossoming sensation in my throat as it *******_**pops**_** out and the skin and flesh tears free like wet lettuce.

I stare down at the dead, alien flesh in my grasp, the internal texture more like a riple peach than meat, cold and wet and leaking red blood and white pus.

I am not alone, a figure looms behind me now, I cannot see her but I know who she is. some primal instinct screaming instructions to obey and revere her  
overrideing my conciousnesses focused self hatred. She is tall, tall enough her fingers could touch the ceiling, broad, muscular and expansive, like she was stretched over her own body, streamlined and efficient where I am loose and frail.

She is a tempest. gryphons wings, the head of the coyote, trashing tail and shakeing mane. She is warm and radiant. Her expression like an enraged mother. She is marchosias, the enfeild, the piasa.

"finish this" she hisses "get it out of your system"

I resist the urge to stop, to try and run from her wrath. I fill with shame at my abject failure in her eyes, my self destruction returning, an echoing pit of loathing that threatens to swallow me whole.

I trace a trembling claw down my throat, feeling it flex with every breath, pulling strange through me, *_into me_*. Pushing air tainted by my broken flesh out into the world. I scrabble with blunt claws at my chest for a long moment, finally gaining gory purchase, finger tips punching into alien flesh and wrapping around my clavicle. Ripping it free, opening my chest wide, reaching into it like a cabinet door. Crushing into my lungs and pulling them loose, two perfect lobes. Wrong in every way, the same strawberry red flesh, wet and dripping, untied from the blood the exist to feed. I discard them, and reach in to tear out more, like fistfuls of pulpy watermelon, gore streaking greyfur with colors not in the least reflective of mammalian flesh.

Some of it is grey and rubbery, somehow even worse and more inhuman than the candy apple red of my blood.

I can't stand to see it, the visual panorama of my body before me a cruel anathema to me. My hand claws up from my broken torso, sliding by my face, pushing blunt claws into my tear ducts and pressing out with as much force as I can muster, popping strange oblong orbs away, but somehow my sight still won't leave me now, the dream needing the vision to sustain itself. I fling my own eyes away and begin desperately wedging fingers into the sockets, screaming out, begging for the gift of blindness.  
  
  
  



End file.
